Turning Point: Gettysburg
by KobayashiNariko
Summary: The armies march to Gettysburg and America begs England to come see him. England relents and as the young nation experiences the bloodiest battle of the Civil War, Arthur comes to terms with a fact that he had avoided for too long. UKUS
1. Part I:June 30, 1863: Arrival

Author Note:

This is a small Fanfic idea that recently came up and it just won't leave me alone, so I started to write it. I'll try my best to keep updating my Kisu Yori mo Hayaku fanfic weekly though, since this is more of a secondary fanfic.  
The chapters are going to vary in length because I'm still playing around with how I'm going to organize this. It is likely that they are going to get bigger once the Battle of Gettysburg actually begins.  
_So for now please consider this a first draft, and note that many revisions will be made. Harsh **Constructive Crits** are welcomed with open arms._

Also both Country and Human names are used: there is significance and a reason as to why each is used.

Disclaimer: This is just my interpretation of the event known as the bloodiest battle to take place in the U.S. Civil War i.e. The Battle of Gettysburg.  
Even though I did some research for the timeline of events, there is a very good chance that I can be historically incorrect.  
Also I do not own Hetalia~

Warning: Yaoi, novice-like writing~

Pairing: UK x US

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~.::*::.~**Turning Point: Gettysburg**~.::*::.~

~.::~:*:~::.~

**Part I: June 30****th**** 1863: Arrival**

_Why am I even here?_

England stood, still as stone, at the end of the gangplank with that one thought running through his head. He had promised himself that after he had cut all ties with…with that person, he would forget about him altogether; he would have absolutely _nothing_ to do with him.

So why was he here _again_? Why was he about to step onto the soil of the very country that had pushed him back into loneliness?

One of his hands gripped the rail of the gangplank while the other reached into his pocket and pulled out a well-worn letter. England had read this letter so many times in those past few days that he had nearly committed its contents to memory. It was strange, but this letter stood out from the many that were sent to England from the same person.

This letter did not apologize like the others. It did not try to justify why he did what he did. It did not even try to convince England to give up his grudge of what had happened nearly a century ago.  
Instead, the letter's unusually shaky scrawl was _begging_ England.  
Now _that_ was what struck England as odd; the writer had, for once, thrown aside his arrogance.

Unfolding the letter slowly, England ignored the irritated comments of others who were passing by him on the gangplank to get off the ship. He needed to reconfirm the reason as to why he had returned to this godforsaken land in the first place.  
Taking a deep breath, England felt his lips move slightly with the words as he read the letter once more…

_Arthur,  
_(This was the first strange thing that caused England to even bother reading the letter after finding out who it was from; only a very personal letter referred to him by his human name)

_I do realize that you may throw out this letter as soon as you find out who it is from, but this time, please listen to me.  
_(Strange thing number two: England did not even remember the last time this person had put the word "please" into a letter; that in itself was alarming enough for England to continue reading)

_I want you to come here. I need you to come.  
A vital battle will happen very soon and I have the feeling that this will be the worst of the war so far. This battle may as well determine the fate of my country, my people…myself.  
I understand that by asking you to come here after cutting all ties with the Empire is selfish _('Well at least he admitted it,' England thought)_, but if I am not selfish in this very moment, I may never get to be selfish in the future.  
I need to see you England. I must.  
If this battle takes a turn for the worst…and my Union falls, I want nothing more than to see you before I fall apart.  
England, Arthur please. I beg of you. Let me meet you at least once more before this battle begins. Before it is too late.  
_(Strange thing three: For once the letter had caused England to be torn between anger and worry; normally he had ripped up the letter as soon as he read anything in reference to the Revolutionary War (that and the word "please" had been used twice now.))

_Alfred.  
_(And Strange thing four: Ever since the Revolution, Alfred always, _always_ signed "America;" the last time he signed "Alfred" was before 1776.)

Although it was never stated in the letter, England could tell from the uncharacteristic quiver in America's normally clear writing (England had taught America good handwriting himself) that his former colony was terrified of this supposedly important battle that was about to take place.  
England also noted that America had referred both to England and himself by their given human names. By dropping all pretenses of properness that he had infused into his initial letters after the revolution, America had purposely made this letter a personal one and therefore made it reminiscent of the messages Alfred often sent to England when he was still part of the Empire.  
Now that England thought about it, this reminiscence may have been one of the reasons why he had gotten on the next ship to the Americas.

Sighing as he folded the letter up and tucking it into his pocket once again, England looked down at the ground in front of him. He could easily turn around and leave America to look after himself…but the nagging worry in the back of England's mind kept repeating the possibility that this battle could mean the end of America as England knew him. When Arthur contemplated on that possibility, he had to accept that _if_ Alfred did not survive this Civil War, he would very much regret not seeing Alfred before Alfred left him for good.

And there was no doubt that that overwhelming regret would be the death of him (most likely literally).

So despite England's resentment that lingered due to the Revolution and the recent irritation of the Trent affair*, Arthur Kirkland could not help but step once more onto American soil—knowing full well that Alfred would know immediately that he had arrived.

~.::~:*:~::.~

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Author Note:

The Trent Affair*~ Brief summary-- this was about a British ship, The Trent, that was intercepted by the North (Union) ships and the Union found that some Confederate Ambassadors/leaders were on the ship and on their way to Britain likely to try to convince Britain to ally with them. Because the British were not a part of the Civil War, they were angry at the Union, saying that the Union had no right to intercept their ship and capture the Southern leaders, whom they considered guests of the British. So to avoid conflict with Great Britain, Lincoln basically let the Southern leaders go back to the South...  
eh that is basically it (I think i left out some details...), if I'm wrong please let me know, this is just what I learned from history class so...

moving on~

This fanfic will likely have really small chapters as compared to my Kisu Yori mo Hayaku fanfic, it also won't be very long.  
Also, whatever was not explained in this chapter will be cleared up in the next one~~  
On a side note, If I find this fanfiction interesting enough I think I just might make a few illustrations to go with it~

:3


	2. Part II:June 30, 1863: Fear of Ghosts

EDIT: I now have the first illustration for this fanfic uploaded to my deviantart (link is on my profile). It's a depiction of Arthur standing on the gangplank with the letter in hand~ I hope you all like it ^_^

Author's note: Lots and _lots_ and _**lots**_ of thanks to everyone who read and reviewed the story! In all honesty I was not expecting many people to give me feedback~ wah, I'm so happy :3

I've finally organized the fanfic (somewhat)! It's going to have five parts total and from here on out the chapter lengths _should_ be a bit longer than the first chapter~

As is all of my writing that I upload, please consider this a first draft that will likely go through numerous revisions etc. Any major edits that I make will be noted at the top of the chapter.  
And as noted in the previous chapter, the changing between the country names and human names has some significance in relation to whether the character is relating to his nation's affairs or that of his own.

Warnings: Yaoi,

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~.::*::.~**Turning Point: Gettysburg**~.::*::.~

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** Part II: June 30th 1863: Fear of Ghosts**

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America's eyes snapped open. He felt a presence on his land that he hadn't felt for so long he had almost forgotten it.  
Normally a country could only generally feel where people were on his land, however, earlier in his life, America had committed to remembering everything he could about this particular presence. He had become so proficient at recognizing his former caretaker's aura so to say that America would normally have rushed to meet him as soon as he landed.

Unfortunately, the Civil War had sapped much of his strength. He had lost so much of his energy that it was to the point where he was confined to his own home and was regularly sent letters from the Union President so he would know what was going on out in the battlefield…and he would know when to prepare himself to go through the agony of yet another battle.

So instead he closed his eyes and continued to lay in his bed, unmoving, and trying with all his might to absorb as much of that presence as he could. The presence stood still for the longest time as America waited with bated breath; would he leave? Would he still come?

Slowly, haltingly, from the edge of his land the elder nation went forward and finally started to get closer to him.

A relieved sigh relaxed all the muscles in America's body that he had held tense for the whole time he had waited for England to move forward. Without warning, tears began to form under the lids of his eyes as the now rare emotion of pure happiness flooded him.

He had answered Alfred's letter.

He had actually come to see Alfred.

That in itself was so moving an action after all that happened between them the Alfred forced his eyes open to let the tears loose without any shame. After all, England had told him once that there were different types of crying and the one you wanted the most was the tears of joy.

Suddenly laughing a bit to himself, Alfred smiled for the first time in the two and a half years since the beginning of the war. It was true that his body was still a bit weak from the rampant starvation in the south, especially with the Seige taking place on Vicksburg, and from many of his older wounds that had only just barely healed; but for a brief amount of time he could bear all of that currently dull pain as a single name floated out of his thoughts and played on his lips.

"Arthur."

~.::~:*:~::.~

Once England actually took his first few steps forward it slowly became easier for him to be on his way to America's home. Thankfully it did not take much too long to reach the rather lavish mansion.  
Again England hesitated as he stepped onto the front steps that led to the door before knocking on it firmly. It was still the same mansion that England himself helped to build when he first claimed America; back during the time when the nation was still small enough for him to pick up in his own two arms.

But now…America was much bigger; he was far from a full grown adult surely…but he was no longer a child as well.

The door was opened by a maid who was soon accompanied by a few nurses and more maids, who greeted him as he entered. The maids had arrived to take his luggage and England noticed a particularly elderly maid smile and say that she would have it put in England's room. The other, younger, maids looked at the elderly one questioningly, but for the first time that day, England had a ghost of a smile on his face.**  
**He remembered this woman when she was but a girl; he was surprised that she had lived for as long as she had since he had last seen her just after the Revolutionary War. He especially remembered her crying when he took the last of his belongings from the mansion and as he looked upon her aged face now, the warmth of recognition comforted him greatly.

However England did not get to talk with her as she led the maids to his room, the doctor that was tending to America had arrived. England exchanged sparse words with the doctor who informed him that America's condition was precarious. Since the Confederacy was not considered a separate nation by the Union, America had not died but now his entire body was in chaos thanks to the war.  
Essentially, there was no telling what could happen to the young nation.

It was only when they were standing just outside America's bedroom door that England realized that he had led the doctor the entire way. Almost as if the gap of time that he had spent away from the mansion had vanished, he still remembered the way to America's room as if it was second nature.

They knocked on the door and were greeted by a soft 'come in.' Arthur could feel his throat tighten emotionally when he heard the voice, just as he remembered it.  
It was a bad idea to come back, Arthur decided; the rushing flood of memories were too much…but when he had come this far, it…it wouldn't hurt to _see_ Alfred would it?

As they came in, the first things England saw were various medical supplies littered about the room. Large bowls of cold water, piles of fresh clean bandages, and the best herbs and medicines this era in America had to offer.  
Respectfully the doctor and nurses had exited the room as England finally looked over at the large bed that was situated at the center of the far wall.

America was sitting up in his bed with a book in his hands. He had let his hands and the book drop to his lap when he looked up to see England walking towards him. For a moment America forgot completely that he and England were then separate nations. For that brief moment he had devolved back into the anxious colony that was ever awaiting England's return. His expression brightened up as England stepped up beside his bed.

England, on the other hand, was slightly unnerved at how happy America seemed when he had first looked over at him. Although, in the back of his mind even England had to admit he was somewhat happy to see the American, but he also saw how tired the ex-colony looked.  
Dark circles were shaded under America's eyes and he was noticeably thinner despite how he tried to cover it up with his clothes.  
Especially since the Siege of Vicksburg had been lasting as long as it was, America was finding it harder and harder to eat properly. He felt sick every time he ate too much; it was as if his own body was rejecting the food since so many of the nation's people were starving.

Only about two and a half years of the Civil War had gone by, but it seemed that the young teenager that England had left at the end of the revolution had suddenly turned into a tired world-weary adult when America should have looked like he was in the prime of his teens.

As England got close to the bed, America moved the bed sheets so he could climb out and stand to greet him. But England only raised one hand to stop him.  
"It is best if you do not get up right now, America. You look tired enough as it is; do not overstrain yourself." He chose each word carefully as he broke the ice between them.

"England. Thank you, for coming." America started, his eyes apologetic and his words just as carefully polite as England's, "You came just in time. The two armies are almost in position at Gettysburg and the battle will probably start tomorrow."

Silently, as he spoke, America's right hand wandered to a spot on his torso just below his heart, which represented the Union capitol. England assumed that the spot upon which America's hand was resting was representative of the city that was going to be the stage of the next day's battle.

"This area here has been bothering me for a while now." America explained before looking straight up into England's eyes, "England, until this battle is over…will you stay with me?"

As much as England hated to see America so worried, so tired and so…so broken, he still hesitated to answer that question. The resentful part of him was ready to leave America and let him deal with the problem himself, but a stronger part of him wanted nothing more than to see America through this battle and assure him that he would last through it.  
"America…"England had so much he wanted to convey, he was at a loss of words.

"Only until the battle is over." America insisted, "I know it was selfish enough to ask you to come here but I just…I do not think I can go through this without you." He paused to take a deep breath, "You may not agree with me but I think I can understand now, if only a little bit."

"Understand what?"

"Understand how much it must have hurt you when I broke away from the Empire." America said these words while avoiding England's gaze which had suddenly widened with surprise. He had closed the book that laid on his lap and carefully placed it on a side table.

"…"

"I am starting to see how scared you were…to lose…me…"America slowed down his words as he tried to keep his voice from cracking but he failed to do so, "Because…because I am scared England."

At this confession of fear, America had paused again to take in a sharp breath as the first of his tears fell. He had pressed all of these worries and fears deep within himself since he felt like no one would fully understand the pain that he was going through as this war continued. But now that England was here, he could finally lower the emotional guards that he had put up in his mind.

"I can't go through this alone! I know I am being selfish!" He exclaimed, furiously swiping at the intruding tears, "But I don't want my country to fall apart…"

England closed his eyes briefly and turned his head away. When he opened them again and looked down at the nation who looked so small in that moment he sighed and took a seat at the side of America's bed as Alfred continued to speak.

"_I_ don't want to fall apart…Arthur…" his voice was muffled by his hands that were busy trying to wipe off the offending wetness.

At the mention of his name, Arthur finally went forward and gently gathered the crying nation into his arms. In a well-practiced motion, Arthur swayed slightly from side to side; he rubbed Alfred's back and smoothed down his hair. Some of Alfred's fears had found its way into Arthur and now even the elder nation had tears threatening his eyes as he considered the very possible chance of America actually breaking into two new nations.

Alfred meanwhile had allowed himself to lean into Arthur and experience the comforting actions of his previous caretaker. He had not felt anyone comfort him like this for decades and, god, did he miss it. It was moments like this that Alfred had yearned for the most since leaving the Empire.

"Shh. Shh now…I…I will stay, Alfred. Until this battle is done and over with, I will stay with you." Arthur whispered as he pulled back, "I will not let you fall apart Alfred."

England decided in that moment, at least for the time that the Civil War was tearing apart his beloved former colony, that he would put aside his heartbreak, anger, and resentment. But _only_ for this Civil War. When it was done and over with he could go back to pretending to hate the younger nation.

~.::~:*:~::.~

As the sun dipped under the horizon and the gas lamps were lit, England finally went over to the next room where he had often slept whenever he stayed over in America. He had spent all of that evening talking to Alfred and despite the fact that no matter what topic they spoke of ended up in some sort of argument he had enjoyed it. It made him remember all the times he had run away from Europe just so he could see the younger nation that instantly made him feel as if he were home.

But, England banished the memories with a shake of his head; those times were dead and long gone. This situation was simply a special case in which he felt the need to look after a scared country.  
He instead started to focus on the room and the seemingly never-ending sense of nostalgia went through him again. The more he observed it, the more he realized that it looked almost exactly the same as when he had left it albeit for the fact that the curtains and bed sheets had been changed and none of the belongings that England often left in the room were there. In their place were but a few bags of luggage.

He changed quickly and finally slipped under the bed sheets. Taking one last look at the room, England was wondering if he could actually fall asleep that night when he heard a hesitant knock on the door.

Just from its sound alone Arthur knew who it was; he still remembered the distinct sound of Alfred's knock, despite the amount of time he had devoted to forgetting everything he knew about him.**  
**Alfred popped his head in somewhat shyly and he felt as if he was still a colony as he asked if he could come in.

Propping himself up slightly, Arthur called him in. As he came up to Arthur's bed, even in the dim light Arthur could notice a poorly disguised limp and he realized that he should have told Alfred again to not get up and walk around in his condition.  
Alfred stopped but a foot away from the side of the bed, in his hands was a pillow that he was fidgeting with and his eyes were carefully avoiding Arthur's eyes. There was an anxious air to his small smile.

"Well why are you just standing there?" Arthur asked, and pulled up the side of his covers, "Come on then, there's a ghost or something in your room correct? You can sleep with me tonight." Alfred looked at him with gratitude; even after all this time Arthur could still practically read his mind.

He eagerly climbed onto the bed, careful not to agitate any of his many wounds, and curled up next to Arthur, just as he did when he was younger. Arthur had rolled slightly onto his side and allowed Alfred to rest his head on Arthur's arm. His other arm gingerly went around Alfred to pull him close. All of these motions, although they were done out of pure habit, were slow and hesitant, as if Arthur was handling fragile glass.**  
**As they laid there in silence, with nothing but the sound of their breathing, Arthur had given up on trying to stop his mind from sifting through old memories. He found himself reminiscing about all the times Alfred had come into his bed complaining about some nonexistent ghost that was haunting his room just to find an excuse to sleep next to him.

Yet, England didn't mind, the only thing that marred this moment was the history that took place between those wonderful years and that very moment. Somehow all thoughts of that history seemed to fade and Arthur found himself once again in the past with a tiny Alfred pressed against him, whispering "Don't leave England. Don't go…not yet."

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Author Note: Alright then, ^_^, three more parts to go!~

I have one drawing of Arthur from the previous chapter, but I want to improve it so I may upload the picture later today. If I do I'll put up a note at the top of the chapter


	3. Part III:July 1, 1863:The First Shot

**EDIT:**_Major Revisions~ Just clarifications, grammar fixing, and editing the entire thing until I was somewhat satisfied with it.._

Author's Note: I really, really was _not_ expecting so many reviews! I feel so loved, and you guys are awesome...you actually make it sound like I write well ((ha ha what a funny thought~ XD)).

In any case, I'm not in the least bit satisfied with this chapter...so there may/will be revisions made on it, and any edits I make will be noted at the top of the chapter.

Warnings: Yaoi,

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~.::*::.~**Turning Point: Gettysburg**~.::*::.~

~.::~:*:~::.~

**Part III: July 1st****1863: The First Shot**

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England woke the next morning to a desperate hand pulling on his shirt and a sharp cry.

"The first shot went out! It started!"

Immediately England threw the blankets off of himself and America only to see America's other hand grasping at his right side. Under his palm a red smear appeared as the blood started to seep through America's shirt. Firmly, but gently, England pried America's hand off of his shirt and scrambled out of the bed.

"We need to get you back to your room. All of the medical supplies are there." England said as he turned around. America started to sit up, but he was much too slow; England had already slipped his arms around America's shoulders and under his knees.

"Let go! I can walk on my own!" America protested fiercely.

"Not with _that_ limp, No." England said as he eyed the red stain that was spreading and added, "Besides, there's no time. I need to wrap up that wound immediately."

Despite the fairly logical argument England had put up, America still felt the need to protect at least some of his pride; he was the hero after all. What kind of hero needed to be carried around like this?

"But this is _embarrassing _England!"

"There is no one around right now but you and me Alfred! Now stop squirming, or so help me, I _will _drop you."  
It was an empty threat but it briefly froze America's incessant wriggling; Arthur was glad that Alfred still had that involuntary reaction to his strictest tone of voice. He had stopped moving long enough for England to transport him back to his own room, where all the medical supplies were easily within reach.

Once he finally placed America back into his bed, England called out for nurses or maids to bring fresh water and while he waited for them he rushed over to the bandages.

"Take off your shirt and let me see how bad it is." England said as he quickly picked up an armful of bandages, not even looking over at America. Dumping the bandages on a large chair, he dragged it over to America with his back to America so he still didn't see the injured nation's predicament.

"Um England?..." A slightly muffled voice called out.

"Hn? What is i—oh for the love of—" England turned around to what he would normally call an amusing sight; Alfred had managed to get one arm halfway stuck through the shirt as well as half of his head, the other arm was still fully in its sleeve.

"Really Alfred, you are still such a child." Arthur chided as he went over and tugged on the shirt.

"I can't help it! It hurts to move my arms!" Alfred retorted and Arthur's expression instantly softened as he helped Alfred remove the bloodstained shirt in silence.

It was right after the offending piece of clothing was thrown accross the room that the nurses arrive with large bowls of fresh water. They hurriedly came over and placed the bowls on the bed's side table where Arthur could easily reach them.

Turning towards England they asked, "Sir, if we can be of assistance...?"

As he dipped one bandage in the water England briefly looked at them, "Ah, yes. I will look after America's wounds. If you would be so kind as to bring more clean bandages, I suspect this battle will be a bad one."

They curtsied before scampering out of the room with half-grins on their faces and stifled giggles at their lips.

"What are they laughing at?" Arthur asked Alfred as he bend down by the bed and started to wipe up the blood that had spilled onto Alfred's skin.  
He looked up just as Alfred grinned slightly ('_How in the world can he still smile like_ that_, with a wound like _this_?'_ Arthur thought), "Now even you're laughing. What's so funny Alfred?"

Alfred shook his head, "I think it's your accent Arthur."

"What's wrong with my accent?"

"Nothing. I think it's because they haven't really heard a pure British accent…so they just think it's, um, different but…nice…and so do I."

"You do?" The words has slipped out of Arthur's mouth before he could stop them and so all he did was look at Alfred with mild surprise, while Alfred had turned pink slightly and looked away.

"Um...It's a good idea to wrap this up for now right?" He changed the subject and motioned to his side. England allowed the topic to drop even though he felt that he had missed a vital opportunity to tease the younger country.  
Instead he glanced sadly at the half-healed patches of skin on America's arms as well as the various bandages that probably covered worse-looking wounds. America sat quietly for once as England wrapped one long bandage around his torso to keep the wound blocked.

Although America acted as if the cut didn't bother him in the least, England could easily see his jaw muscles tensed as he ground his teeth together.

~.::~:*:~::.~

Throughout the morning, Alfred and Arthur had tried to keep a conversation going to avoid the obvious fact that not all of America's upcoming wounds for the rest of the day, or even the next few days would be as easily tended to as the battle played out. In an attempt to ease both of their nerves, America had asked England to tell a story about the time when England was still a chid and his country was in the hands of one of the most famous British kings in history.  
With that prompt, England enthusiastically delved into a tale of the legendary King Arthur, the sword in the stone and the knights of the round table, but he was only enthusiastic at first.

Every so often, his narration was interrupted by a small noise made by America every time the wound spontaneously reopened and lengthened. As the morning wore on, England was starting to force himself to continue the story in hopes of distracting both himself and Alfred as he continued to replace soiled bandages with new ones.

Just an hour before noon, the cut had widened to a gash that drew a thick line from the middle of America's right side to the very middle of his chest.  
Although America had to experience the pain of his dying soldiers in a time of war, he was also gifted with abilities far beyond a normal human's and one of these was his body's rapid ability to heal. So thanks to the fact the Alfred was the personification of his country, the wound had stopped bleeding and had closed temporarily.  
America informed England that the fighting on the field had become quiet…for the moment at least. The momentary peace allowed England to finish the story and as he did so nothing but a strained silence followed. During which, England couldn't help but feel a bit proud of how America managed to handle the pain of the wound; he must have gotten used to it given how long the Civil War had lasted so far…but it was such a terrible thing to get used to…

"Well...this is a good time to tell me 'I told you so'." America spoke up and gave England a tired smile.

"What?"

"You said once that I would never be able to hold my Union together without you...so if this battle goes badly...then you can tell me 'I told you so'." America explained and for some reason this irritated England; to him, with both America's words and his tired voice, it seemed that America was ready to give up at any moment.

"And you actually think that I will be so egotistical to say something like that when you are in so much pain right now Alfred?" England's calm façade that he had kept up while telling the story was quickly crumbling, "How can you even suggest the battle will go badly? Don't you have even the littlest bit of hope that you will pull through and everything will be fine in the end?"

"England..." America started in a more serious voice than before, "No...Arthur. What I me—Agh!" His voice was cut off by his own involuntary groan that was quickly followed by England's own grimace as the wound reopened with the continuation of the battle.

And so the grueling process resumed; what Alfred wanted to say was pushed down and stoically blocked as he gritted his teeth and barely made a noise throughout the rest of the ordeal of the first day. At that point, he was starting to believe that this battle could possibly not be as bad as he previously thought, given that the first day was just as tolerable as many of the other battles that America had survived though.

By the time evening set in and the battle paused for the night, the cuts on America had spread. They traced fine crimson lines all over the middle of his torso, making a gruesome spider web of incisions into his skin. It stung even though the bleeding had slowed to a stop, but America wasn't focused on the pain, he was instead irritated as he felt his Union's army retreat for the night...the traitors had won that day's battle. He was obviously frustrated at how his Union seemed to be struggling to defend their own soil throughout that day but he still had the strength to look up at England from where he was lying down and to force a smile.

"We may have had to retreat today, but there's always tomorrow," America said, "It's not like my army's lost just yet right?"  
England returned the fake smile with a slightly forced one of his own, yet it was slightly refreshing to see how America clung to even the tiniest scraps of optimism.

At England's lack of a response, Alfred spoke up again, "England...Will you stay here 'till I go to sleep?"  
Arthur only nodded tiredly and then leaned forward from where he was sitting, the chair that he had filled with bandages was now empty and it would become his bed for the night. He reached out one hand to lightly pat the top of Alfred's head.

"Yes, now sleep." He ordered.

"And will you be there when I wake?" Alfred's smile slowly became less forced as he started to feel drowsy from the familiar motion of Arthur's hand.

"Yes Alfred." Arthur continued to pat Alfred's hair until Alfred's eyes drooped down and he fell asleep from exhaustion. Before leaning back on the chair , Arthur checked the final dressing for the wounds for the last time that night. Satisfied that the bandages would last until sunrise the next day, Arthur brought up the blanket until it reached Alfred's chin. Just as soon as he finished tucking Alfred in he leaned back on the seat and just stared at the American for a moment.  
Then, at his mind's persistent urging, and possibly an old habit, he forced himself to go forward once more and plant a gentle kiss on Alfred's forehead. Lightly fixing Alfred's bangs, Arthur sat back for the final time with the smallest of smiles, and waited for sleep to drape over him.

His mind started to drift around again, but this time it floated toward England's own countless wars and knew that he could relate to the America's pain only too easily. He faded deep into his thoughts that spanned centuries more than America's and closed his eyes.

Subconsciously, England's hand came to rest just above his heart. Under the fabric and on his skin was one long thin scar that ran vertically down from his left shoulder to just below his waist.  
In less than a century every injury that he sustained from the Revolutionary war had faded away and healed; each and every scar...except this one.  
This was the final reminder of his most traumatic loss. It refused to fade away because England had succumbed to his own feelings of rejection and depression, hurt and anguish. If he could only find a way to let go of these emotions and move forward, he knew that even this long scar would heal with time.

In that moment Arthur reopened his eyes and gazed down at Alfred as he began to talk aloud to clear his thoughts, "Alfred…Why didn't you realize just how much I cared about you? If you were still part of the British Empire…you would not be going through all this pain."  
Why was it so easy to tell Alfred all of this when Arthur knew that Alfred couldn't hear him? But he continued to pour out his thoughts nonetheless, "I would have been able to protect you. To intervene in matters like this. Do you have _any_ idea how helpless I feel right now?"  
Arthur swallowed painfully as his throat began to choke up, "Why did I even listen to your letter and come back here?"

He let that question hang in the air, knowing that he had the answer within him.  
He just didn't want to accept it.

But there were two things Arthur would have to surely accept when this battle ended. It was the fact that this battle would be a turning point not only for the American nation, but it would also be the pivotal moment that would force both Arthur and Alfred to move forward and no longer dwell in the past.

Arthur only hoped that he would be ready when that moment arrived.

~.::~:*:~::.~

* * *

Author's Note: Yes, this is like a transitioning chapter~ there wasn't much that happened, I'm sorry~ I understand if you didn't like this chapter...I kinda don't... But... but, the next chapter will be better! At least...I like the next chapter more than this one~ :3


	4. Part IV:July 2, 1863: Tears

Author Note: Wah~ much thanks for the reviews~ you guys are awesome and so supportive~~

I've decided that I'm going to finish off this fanfic before I continue working on my Kisu Yori mo Hayaku Fanfic, that way I don't have to juggle two fanfics~ ((So for the people that are waiting for the other fanfic's update--please forgive me for the lateness DX. To make up for it, I'll have lots and lots of new (and some colored) illustrations for Kisu Yori))

Warnings: Yaoi, fluff (I think...), and light swearing ((I think it's just like...one word, but I'm mentioning it here, just to be safe))

* * *

~.::~:*:~::.~

~.::*::.~**Turning Point: Gettysburg**~.::*::.~

~.::~:*:~::.~

**Part IV: July 2, 1863: Tears **

~.::~:*:~::.~

The next morning woke England up with a bloodcurdling scream and a resounding _thud_ as he literally jumped and fell out of his chair.

"Bloody hell." He muttered, irritated, as he rubbed his shoulder that had hit the ground first, but that irritation quickly turned into shock as England realized it was _America_ who was screaming. England scrambled to his feet as fast as he could, just in time to see America turn onto his side and curl up with his arms wrapped around his mid-section. Overwhelmed with worry, England put a single hand on his former colony's shoulder and turned him so England could see the cause for America's tortured cries.

That morning had begun with multiple surprise attacks on the Union army by the Confederate troops. As if the simultaneous attacks weren't bad enough, the Confederates were fighting more fiercely than before and thus England panicked to no end as he found himself constantly changing the bandages in hopes of quelling the flow of blood. Yet every effort he made seemed to be fruitless and more than once he actually considered the possibility that America could die at any moment, despite how fast his body regenerated blood.

And it didn't help that America was no longer as stoic as he was the previous a visible expression of pain accompanied every new cut as well as a stifled grunt or yell.**  
**Many times that day, he had slipped in and out of consciousness; every single time he fell unconscious England could feel his throat tighten with unrestrained fear and he couldn't help but to check America's pulse every few moments until he woke once more, allowing England to breathe easily for yet another hour or so.

The battles that day were so severe that England found that he could not tend to America alone. Multiple nurses ran in and out of the room to supply him with fresh water, medicine, bandages and herbs in an attempt to lessen America's pain.  
At one point England even allowed them to redress America's wounds when all he could do was tiredly collapse into the chair by America's bed and hold tightly onto America's hand.

Somewhere in his mind, England had convinced himself that as long as he held onto America's hand. As long as he whispered soft reassurances to America while America was awake. As long as he kept promising that everything would be alright. As long as he told America that this would all end soon then he would be…

fine.

Yes...as long as he kept doing all this, then _surely_ America would be fine.

Alfred would be fine.

Wouldn't he?

Arthur shook that question from his mind; this was not the time to doubt Alfred's strength. He would continue to hold onto Alfred and continue to make promises he could only dream of keeping until this accursed battle was over.

It was a very good thing that England was not aware of what would happen the following day, else he wouldn't have been able to utter a single word of condolence to his former charge**.**

*******~`~`~`~ ***

It was only very late into the evening, after the red sun had set that the bleeding stopped.

That day's turmoil had left the flesh on a large part of America's torso raw and sensitive; his skin was still covered with crisscrossing cuts, yet they had become thicker and deeper than before. They reminded America of the battle at Antietam, where in a single day he had obtained wounds like these...but he knew that the battle of Gettysburg was far from over. There would be _at least_ one more day of fighting and…at this point Alfred wasn't sure if he could last through one more day of this pain that felt more intense than that of Antietam's.

By the end of the day, his screams and groans had subsided and all that was left was soft sobbing. So many soldiers had given their lives that day, and America knew that these tears were not his own; he was not crying because of his own pain. These were the tears of all the soldiers that were dying out in the battle field.  
America cried for the vast array of men who survived well enough to fight once more…the very men who were unable to allow themselves to shed tears.

At America's request, England helped him sit up and lean against the headboard of his bed. England sat on the side of the bed patiently; one hand held fast onto America's and the other was brought up occasionally to wipe away a stray tear that was almost immediately replaced with two more.  
They sat there in silence with the only sounds coming from the times America sniffed. Every time he took that involuntary breathe, his entire body shook and England's hand would tighten around America's. Whenever this happened America would just smile ever so slightly and squeeze back as much as he could.

England waited quite some time for America's tears to fade and his breathing to return to it's normal pattern. But as the room became darker and the gas lamps were lit, England could take it no longer. He let go America's hand and moved to sit closer to him. Without warning, he took off America's glasses (one of his newer states, Texas) and lightly placed it on the side table.

Boldly he came forward to kiss the corner of each of America's eyes and then his forehead. He took his time as he did this and held his breath after he pulled away, looking imploringly into America's blue eyes and waiting for him to speak. He waited as America blinked a few times and then started to talk in hoarse and subdued voice.

"England...If my Union loses tomorrow--"

"Shush. Don't even think of tomorrow..." England interrupted softly.

"But _if_ we lose--" America started again persistently but England refused to listen to his depressing speculations. He took America's face into his hands and brought his own face within a few inches of America's.

"You will not lose. Do you hear me?" England said in a shaky voice, "You will not fall apart. You. Will. _Not_. Die."  
Arthur shook his head as he emphasized each word and looked down; tears already started to burn his eyes but even in his cracked voice he continued, "I won't let you. You _will not_ leave me. Not again."

"There's still something I want to tell you before we go through another day of this though." Alfred took England's hands into his and pulled them down.

Arthur's eyes snapped up, "If you're still considering the possibility that this _Confederacy _of yours could win—"

"I love you."

"......"

_'Wait... What?'_

England's mind reeled and he suddenly felt very much detached from his body, almost as if he was floating. His limp hands slipped from Alfred's as the tears finally spilled without permission. His eyes then bowed down, no longer able to meet Alfred's gaze.

Alfred had said those words with such conviction...with such confidence that it had shocked Arthur into silence. Never in his life had Arthur ever heard someone tell him something like this with such certainty and unadulterated honesty.

After a moment's pause, Alfred continued to look straight at Arthur and slowly brought up his hands to coax Arthur to look up at him; he wasn't done yet.

"_This_ is why I begged you to come...because I'm afraid that..." His words were beginning to rush out and finally his _own_ tears had arrived as well, "I'm afraid that if this battle goes badly and I don't survive--" he paused as Arthur's eyes became sharp and swallowed before finishing, "I don't want to leave this world without telling you this..."

"......" Arthur still had his eyes averted and so Alfred though it best to lean forward. At his sudden movement, Arthur's eyes snapped forward just in time to see Alfred all but two inches away. He flinched slightly in surprise and briefly he wanted to pull away from Alfred's warm hands, but the fleeting desire left as soon as it came and he didn't move as Alfred continued to get closer.

Excruciatingly slowly, Alfred finally put his forehead against Arthur's and closed his eyes, whispering now, "I love you."

"Alfred I..."

England's heart thumped painfully against his scar and he gulped. This was supposed to be his chance.

This was where he was supposed to say "I love you too."

So why were the words stuck in his chest?  
Why were they locked up in his heart and guarded so mercilessly by that terrible scar?  
He wanted to say it so badly that it hurt to hold it back...but the scar only pinched tighter around his heart, not allowing a single syllable of those words to escape.

In the time that Arthur hesitated, Alfred had gathered the courage to finally open his eyes. He frowned when he saw England deep in thought with his eyes closed once more and he ended up perceiving Arthur's painfully confused expression in the worst possible way.

'_So this is it? This is Arthur's answer?'_ Alfred thought, '_Well then...it's best if I don't bother him any longer...right?'_

Swallowing painfully, Alfred made his decision, licked his lips and forced them into a grin.

"England~" He started in a sing-song voice and lightly tapped his forehead against Arthur's, "Don't think too much or you'll hurt yourself. Besides, I think that...that you misunderstood. I meant to say 'I love you' like a brother."

When Arthur's eyes reopened, Alfred truly hoped that Arthur would realize that his fresh tears were not due to the pain from his physical wounds...rather that they were from his heart that was cut open from lying so blatantly.

And yet, this was the one thing that he couldn't let Arthur realize.

So in spite of said pain, Alfred leaned forward just a bit more and pulled Arthur into a hug.

"So England...will you sleep next to me tonight? You know, just in case that ghost comes back...and so you won't ruin your back by sleeping in that chair again." Alfred asked, carefully keeping his face buried in Arthur's shoulder so Arthur wouldn't be able to find out exactly what he was thinking from his expression.

'_So it was only the love of a brother...'_ Arthur thought depressingly, '_I should have expected as much...just what was I hoping for anyway?'_

After carefully helping Alfred back into a sleeping position, Arthur managed to situate himself next to Alfred at a comfortable distance in the large bed. Briefly, when Alfred turned on his slightly less injured side to come closer, he stiffened in response--just to see how Alfred would react because he had the notion that maybe Alfred was lying to him; the fake smile was all too apparent and disconcerting for Arthur.

He heard a light sigh before Alfred resumed his façade and asked, "Can you tell another story, so I can go to sleep soon?"

Alfred seemed to be doing everything in his power to distract Arthur from his earlier confession and so Arthur let himself get distracted and began one of Alfred's favorite stories.  
It was one that took place during Arthur's time as a pirate; the tale involved drinking rum, fighting with Spain and defeating him, drinking more rum, fighting France and kicking his arse, drinking some more rum, and most importantly a very special treasure that ended up being lost at sea...oh, and it ended with Arthur drowning himself in rum to make up for losing said treasure.

Just as the story reached the part of the treasure that was accidently thrown into the ocean, Alfred was fully asleep and comfortably fit against Arthur's figure.  
'_Right on cue,'_ Arthur remembered that Alfred always fell asleep at this point and he wondered for a moment if he had ever told Alfred the end of the story...ah well...the end just involved a lot of rum; it didn't really matter anyway.

Smiling to himself just a bit, Arthur also remembered that he had found an interesting map when he found the treasure and it had looked a lot like the North American continent. He was going to bring it back as a gift for Alfred so they could go treasure hunting together. Maybe one day Alfred would come up with some sort of crazy technology that would let him find the treasure that was swallowed up by the sea and then they could go on their long awaited treasure hunt.

Arthur's wishful thinking faded as he looked down at Alfred and pondered his earlier confession; had Alfred been serious when he said that he loved Arthur just "like a brother"? For some reason as he observed the steady rise and fall of Alfred's chest and realized that Alfred was fast asleep, the scar had loosened its death grip on his heart.

And the words that Arthur had held back flew easily over his tongue.

"It is sad how I cannot tell you this while you're awake Alfred…" He whispered as he leaned down and kissed Alfred's forehead as he had done the previous night,

"but…I love you too."

In that moment, the scar that had bothered England every single day since the revolution almost felt as if it was no longer there…as if it no longer existed.  
So this was his turning point; Arthur sighed in relief.  
He had managed to make it though his turning point and from here on he could finally move towards the future…

He only hoped that Alfred could survive _his_ turning point…

No…_Hope_ was a useless emotion at this point.

Arthur would do anything and _everything_ in his power to make sure Alfred would be stepping into the future with him, because he would never accept a future without Alfred.

Either they were both surviving this pivotal point--or neither of them was.

Of course neither of them knew that the next day of the battle, the bloodiest day of battle, would test their endurance to their very limits as more blood would be spilled in a dangerous and foolhardy maneuver.

* * *

Author Note: Ok! Just one more part to go~ For those of you who know what happened on the third day of Gettysburg, then you should know that maneuver~ but for those who don't know, I'm not going to tell you right now, it's my centerpiece for the finale. ^_~*

While I was writing this, I came across a song that I felt really, really fit the situation that Arthur and Alfred are in, and funnily enough, it has a foreshadowing (or maybe a spoiler?) in it's lyrics for something that I have planned to happen in the next chapter. For those who are curious it's called "Closing In" by Imogen Heap~ I think it's a really pretty song~


	5. Part V:July 3, 1863: Pickett's Charge

Author's Note:A note to the reviewers and readers that have stuck around long enough to read the end: Your support has motivated me to no end and I hope that I can continue to write as well as many of you claim that I do. I really cannot say thank you enough for taking your time to read and review my fanfic.

Finally! The very last chapter!~~ This is the first time I've finished an entire fanfiction, so for better or worse I present to you the ending~

Please note that this chapter, like the others, is considered a first draft and after leaving this fanfiction alone for a week or so, I'll be revising and editing the _entire thing _ before I label this fanfic as complete~

Warnings: Light Yaoi, and light swearing (( they're British swear words…well one word…said twice, courtesy of Arthur's pirate mouth)) ~ :3

* * *

~.::~:*:~::.~

~.::*::.~**Turning Point: Gettysburg**~.::*::.~

~.::~:*:~::.~

**Part V: July 3rd****1863: Pickett's Charge**

~.::~:*:~::.~

England had a sinking feeling…almost literally. He was underwater with something wrapped firmly around him and dragging him deeper. Forcing his eyes open England looked down to see a thick tentacle that was curled around his upper torso and no matter how much he fought against it, the living rope refused to budge. If anything it squeezed England tighter.

_How fitting,_ England mused dryly_, that a pirate gets dragged into the depths by the leviathan…I'll likely meet Davy Jones if I go any deeper._

As he stopped fighting against the tentacle, he began to hear a sad sound. Whatever it was that was holding onto him was crying…and it was in pain…so much pain.

The underwater surroundings began to blur and change, the tentacle split in two and transformed into two arms. England drifted out of the dream and came face to face with the very one who was gripping him so tightly.

"America?"

England blinked groggily for a moment before his eyes widened with realization. The battle must have already started again!

He started to pry at America's arms and reprimanded, "Why didn't you wake me up? When did it start? Alfred, Answer me!"

Alfred gave his head a small shake and buried his face further into Arthur's shoulder, his arms still desperately clinging onto the frustrated nation.

"Alfred." Arthur started in a gentler voice, "Please…Let go. We need to stop the bleeding."

"What's the point?" Alfred mumbled obstinately, "It's just going to open up again anyway. I…I don't care anymore."

It took all of Arthur's limited willpower not to slap some sense into Alfred for saying something like that. Instead he took advantage of Alfred's weakened state and forced his arms away. In a continuous motion he turned till he pinned the disheartened nation to the bed.

"Didn't I already say I'm not going to let you die?" Arthur asked in a dangerously low voice, "Now when did the attack start?"

Taken aback by the severity of Arthur's tone, Alfred only managed to croak out, "D—Dawn."

Arthur snapped his head up and towards the window; the morning light was streaming in through the gaps of the curtains. Surely it must have been an hour since sunrise.  
As he forced himself to take a steadying breath, he finally felt an uncomfortable stickiness around his abdomen. Glancing down, his stomach turned slightly at the sight of blood that must had seeped into his shirt from America's wounds. Before he moved back to his usual chair, he peeled off the shirt and unceremoniously tossed it to the floor. There would be time later to find a fresh shirt.

It took some persuading, but England managed to get America to sit up so the bandages could be changed. The youth pointedly kept his eyes straight forward and took every effort to avoid any conversation with England. After the last two days of intense bleeding, it became apparent that Alfred had lost much, if not all, of his hope.

He refused to make a sound until 1 PM that afternoon.

In the period of calm just before that time, America had fallen asleep and England was in danger of dozing off as well. The two days of constant anxiousness had drained much out of him as well, but unlike America, he wasn't stubbornly trying to give up. He had finally nodded off when it happened.

Like the explosion of cannons, a terrible cry was torn out of America's throat.

"England!"  
Said nation's eyes snapped wide open instantly and turned towards the tortured country who was desperately wrapping his arms around his torso yet again.

He continued to yell, "Make it stop! Please…make it…" He didn't finish his sentence as the Confederates launched a fresh barrage of cannon fire. It would be a matter of time before the Union soldiers did the same.

America's entire torso truly felt as if it was in flames from the enormous amounts of constant cannon shells. He writhed around ineffectively, experiencing absolutely nothing but pain and this scene was enough to tear England apart.  
At first he tried to hold down America's shoulders to hold him still but when that didn't work it came to the point where he was sitting on America's thighs to keep him from tossing around. Finding nowhere else to go, the younger pushed himself up enough to tightly hold onto England.

England held onto the back of his head and let him press his forehead against the base of the Empire's neck and shoulder. His incessant yells stretched the limits of his voice to an unbearable point, and yet…he couldn't stop. Slowly, his cries started to have larger and larger gaps of time between them until the false calm and silence arrived once again.

The cannon fire had lasted two hours.

In the moments that followed, America's ability to sense the movements of troops on the land sharpened exponentially the more he focused on Gettysburg. Suddenly he stiffened and his hands clutched at the skin over England's shoulder blades.

"No…What are they doing?" He whispered frantically and raised his voice as he pulled back far enough to look up at England. Confused green eyes greeted his sudden alarm.

"They're going through _open fields _England!" The pitch of his panicked voice went higher, "They're all going to get killed! All of the—" His words were cut short with a sudden coughing fit that forced America to clamp his hands over his mouth. He fell back onto the bed and as much as he could with England sitting on him, he turned away until the coughing stopped. His throat was painfully choked up with some liquid that never should have been there, because when he pulled away his hands he saw them stained with his own blood.

Pickett's Charge had begun.

What started as a slight trembling in his fingers spread to his entire body shaking uncontrollably. On the battlefield, literally every single shot that the Union fired had hit one Confederate or another. This vast massacre of troops resulted in a literal blood bath where America sat. Pulling him up, England wrapped his arms around the youth in an attempt to stop the shaking. Automatically, Alfred's arms came around as well, only this time when he hung onto the elder's back his tense fingers had curled in and his nails accidently punctured the bare skin.  
England didn't allow himself to make a sound and simply ground his teeth together; if America found that he could stand the pain of this horrific maneuver then England could handle these minor cuts.

Both of them lost track of time until, completely exhausted, America let his arms fall limp to his sides and he slumped into England's embrace. The very light breath that he felt on his collarbone assured the island nation that his former colony was still alive. Of course, tired tears that followed the end of the charge arrived as well, causing England to shiver as the cold drops hit his skin, despite the summer heat.

They didn't move until England finally came to his senses and realized that America had slipped into unconsciousness. England moved slowly as he picked him up to move him to the other side of the bed, where the sheets were not soaked in blood. As the afternoon ended, he wrapped the wounds one last time before taking the time to clean himself off.  
Taking advantage of America's sleep, he also requested a nurse to patch up his back. There was also enough time to slip on a new shirt so he could avoid having to explain his injury to America, who likely had no awareness that he caused the scratches in the first place.

When the American finally did wake up, the Confederates had lost more than fifty percent of their total troops by the final attacks of the day. Completely decimated, the turning point of the Civil War left the Confederates with absolutely no chance to win. At this point it was only a question of how long they could continue to defend themselves.

America gazed listlessly up at the ceiling, he seemed to be stuck like a broken record and kept repeating, "So many lives…senselessly wasted. So many. All of those men…" A small motion, and England's hand silently clasped the American's, but he did not dare interrupt.

"Those soldiers, no, those Americans…" He paused and blinked as if just realizing something, "_My _Americans…" In that instant, something in him snapped and he sat up abruptly, surprising England, who quickly moved to sit on the side of the bed just in case he needed to restrain America once more.

"Why do wars have to exist, England?" He asked tiredly, "Why do we…we, the nations themselves, have to feel the pain of war? What did we do to deserve a life like this!?"

"America…" These were questions he couldn't answer, especially the last one; England's mouth just opened and closed wordlessly and he blinked away the building moisture that blurred his vision.

America's eyes began to look wild as he started again, "It would be better if it just ended…if there was no more pain. So many have already died…one more makes no difference."

"What are you saying?" England interrupted the frantic rant and caused America to finally look straight at him, the momentary insanity clear in the juvenile's eyes.

"I'm saying…that I don't want to go through this again. It would best if I were dea—"

A resonating slap echoed across the room. There was absolutely no way that Arthur would allow the disillusioned teen finish _that _statement.  
The island nation's patience had all but disappeared. Of course this also meant that his civility had vanished and he was no better than a pirate once more.

With one hand pressed against his stinging cheek, even Alfred's anger had gotten the best of him.

"It's my wish to die, Arthur!" He exploded, "What right do you have to interfere with that!?"

"I _love_ you, that's why!" Arthur yelled back, "I love you and I have _every_ right to be selfish with you. Like hell I'm going to let you die you bloody, oblivious git!"  
Despite his attempt at continuing to be infuriated with Alfred, irate tears streamed from green eyes and his anger dissipated.

Alfred could only stare silently as Arthur battled the interfering tears and choked out, "…And it's not like a brother's love either…It's different…completely different."

No more words were needed and it wasn't as if Alfred found himself able to say anything anyway. He suddenly felt much too aware of himself as went forward untill he was close enough to comfort the Briton. He knew that as he brought Arthur into a secure hug that their positions were supposed to be the other way around…yet it had been the other way around for the last few days. As Alfred rocked back and forth as much as his torso would allow and as he caressed the elder nation's messy hair, he said softly, "The Confederates are retreating you know. I…We won Arthur."

A sigh of relief. A tired smile. Both played on each of their lips as the realization that the horrific events of that day and the past two days were at a close. The myriad of turning points had passed; they were complete.

When Arthur finally calmed down, he pulled back and carefully turned his head away. A subtle flush had touched his cheeks and Alfred had to keep himself from smiling as he put one hand to the Briton's chin and turned his face towards him. It was the perfect chance. The perfect moment.

"Shall I draw up a bath for you…Mr. England…?" A timid voice of a maid had floated into the room and England whipped up two fingers to block Alfred's lips, which were a mere inch from their target. He then got up to face the girl who had entered.

"No that will be quite alright. We have decided to retire for the night." England answered.

She glanced at Alfred's pout (which was caused by his thwarted plans) and then at Arthur's relieved smile. Recognizing that she had likely interrupted…something, she curtsied hurriedly and left with a light blush.

"Arthur." Alfred called out for the British man's attention. In a childish moment of selfishness he tiredly raised his hands up, in the familiar motion of wanting to be picked up. Arthur complied readily, and there was a marked difference this time as Alfred curled as closely as he could and wound his arms around Arthur's neck. He would have to wait just a bit longer till he found yet another chance.

They had finally moved back to Arthur's temporary room and just as they laid down to sleep, Alfred hatched another plan that was nearly foolproof.

"I nearly forgot…My birthday's tomorrow…" He almost regretted his words when he felt Arthur stiffen in response. Almost.

"I see." A curt, predictable, response.

"Looks like I won't be able to throw a party this year will I?" Alfred pretended to grimace and look disappointed.

"In your condition, it certainly does not seem like it." Arthur answered in a dry voice and Alfred felt all the closer to his goal. Although the situation screamed at him to drop the touchy subject, he chose not to read the atmosphere and continued on as he was.

"Do you have a gift for me?" He smiled brightly as he felt Arthur twitch.

_His own nation is falling apart at the seams and he can _still_ worry about such things? _Arthur wondered before yet another thought came to add to his disbelief.

…_And__…_I'm in love with a joker like this…?

"No." Arthur lied.

"Liar. You always have a gift. You just never put your name on it. Do you think that I don't realize that?" Alfred asked, "Besides…"  
He paused and silently thanked the dim light of the gas lamps for concealing his blush, "all I want this year for my birthday is for you to stay here with me…I know it's not a good day for you but just this year…can we put everything aside? Just for a little while?"

"…" Arthur contemplated this and he accepted that if he was ever to move on he would have to face this one day, "Alright then…one more day won't make a difference."  
He relented to the younger one's request and then gently brought him close enough to place the customary kiss on his forehead.

Arthur didn't notice Alfred swallow a smug grin when he suddenly felt the teen's hand come up to his cheek and coax him to look down. Quickly, Alfred went forward to place his lips on Arthur's. He pulled back just as hastily after just barely grazing the elder country's lips.  
Flushed pink, Alfred held his breath and waited for Arthur's reaction with beseeching blue eyes.

There was a momentary pause before Arthur wordlessly pulled him into what began as a chaste kiss. It was only after Alfred kissed him back that Arthur lost his self-control ever so minutely. He had deepened the kiss too far. He had pulled Alfred much too close and as the proximity irritated the young country's wounds, Alfred was forced to break off with an involuntary gasp. Well...there went the perfect atmosphere.**  
**Arthur immediately loosened his grip and distanced himself, almost to the point that he was barely touching Alfred.

"You bloody git!" Arthur exclaimed, but after watching Alfred cringe slightly he lowered his voice, "Do you want me to put you through more pain than you've already been through?!"

"No!" Alfred quickly responded, "I just…um…lost control?" He offered a sheepish grin with only a frown in return, but he didn't mind; he had fulfilled his objective.

"You…You…_stop smiling_ like that else I will be the one to lose control."

Even in the dim light Alfred could see his face darken with a crimson blush, but before he could nab a second kiss, Arthur once again wrapped his arms around him just enough so Alfred could not move. As an extra measure, he pushed Alfred's head down till he could tuck it under his chin.

"You are injured. You should be sleeping." He insisted stubbornly.

"Aww" Alfred whined, "Do I get a good night's kiss?"

"You just did!"

"…What about a 'good morning' one?"

"…"

"Arthur?"

"I'll think about it…Now go to sleep!"  
(In Arthur-speak: That meant yes.)

"Good night then," Alfred said as he let his eyes close, being obedient for once. He then added as an afterthought, "I love you."

Arthur mumbled his reply into Alfred's hair, half hoping that the younger nation would not be able to hear him, "Yes, yes…love you, too…"

Finally, they could move onward and even though they had no idea what troubles the future had planned…at the very least they managed to take a few tentative steps away from the past. A past that each of them wished that one day would no longer be reminisced.

Until then, they would strive for that pure happiness.

End

* * *

Author's Note: Well, there you have it, my first completed Fanfiction~ ((I keep thinking this was either epic…or an epic fail~)) but I will repeat that this entire fanfic will be revised before I consider it satisfactory, so I kindly request that you re-read it once it is improved significantly ((because I don't know if the story itself might change))

In any case, THANK YOU so very much for bearing with my novice-ish writing till the very end. I greatly appreciate it~

K. Nariko ~ :3


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